Aiden turned to Fancy, gave her a gentle hug and kiss on the cheek. “You look lovely.”
“I don’t suppose Beast came,” she stated more than asked.
“He’s not one for affairs such as this,” Finn said.
“None of us are,” Aiden pointed out. “Yet here we are.”
“It is more important for you, with your wives, to be accepted by Society,” Gillie said firmly. “Especially if you have any hope at all of seeing your children accepted.”
Fancy fought not to feel self-conscious that her origins were plain and humble, that she would be faced with the same challenges of seeing her children accepted. While they knew nothing at all about Gillie’s true parents, the three brothers attending tonight did know who had fathered them and that noble blood ran through their veins. Whereas she knew she couldn’t claim so much as a drop.
Aiden lifted her wrist. “What’s this, then?”
“It’s a dance card.”
“I know what it is. I had to sit through Mick’s lectures.” Mick had once had a lover who had taught him a good bit about the nobility and etiquette, and he’d shared all he’d learned with his siblings. When she was old enough, he’d taught her as well—although he hadn’t mentioned where he’d learned it. She’d picked up that bit eavesdropping on a conversation. “Why are there no names on it?”
“It’s a challenge to know when I’ll be available since I’m unsure as to when I’ll be done here.”
He narrowed his eyes at her lie, heaved a sigh. “How much longer must you stand here?”
“An hour at the most.”
Taking the pencil, he scrawled his name beside a waltz, then winked at her.
Selena rubbed his arm. “We’re holding up the queue.” She bussed a quick kiss over Fancy’s cheek. “It’ll take a little time, but eventually it’ll fill up.”
She remained optimistic that her sister-by-marriage spoke the truth.
Finn also claimed a dance after greeting her. Lavinia gave her a hug. “The first one is always the hardest.”
She was further encouraged. “It’s more promising than I expected.”
Not completely true. She’d hoped for more than her brothers’ names on her dance card.
Lavinia gave her an understanding smile. “It will get better.”
The couples wandered off, and Fancy found herself being introduced to a matronly woman with a very disapproving expression on her face. Better couldn’t come soon enough.
Introductions continued. The young, the old, the debutantes thrilled with another opportunity to dance, flirt, and possibly catch the eye of a gentleman. People were polite with her, but distant. But then that was the way of the aristocracy, was it not?
So many people murmured their pleasure at meeting her that she lost track of the number, as well as the names. Even the little game she played for associating names with individuals began to fail her. Simply too many needed to be remembered. Then she realized she wasn’t extending her hand to anyone or plastering a smile on her face.
“That’s done,” Thorne said. “Let’s make a break for it before the next round of guests arrives.” He held his hand out to his duchess, and hers glided into his so easily, but then Fancy wasn’t surprised. She’d seen the closeness between them too many times to count. She longed for that sort of relationship, where so much was communicated with merely a look or a touch. To be known so well.
Gillie waved Mick and Aslyn over. “Mick, you’ll dance with Fancy.” Her words were a command, not a question. Owning a tavern and a pub, she was accustomed to ordering people about.
“Naturally.” He winked at his wife. “You’ll have my next dance.”
“And each one after that,” she replied, a twinkle in her eyes.
The duke raised his arm and signaled the orchestra. The music quieted, went silent, and everyone turned their attention to Thornley. Such was his power, his ability to command an audience with little more than his presence. Then he took Gillie’s hand, urging her closer to him, and tucked it within the crook of his arm. “My duchess and I thank you all for joining us this evening. It is our pleasure to have you share her sister’s debut into Society. She is an exceptional young woman, and we are wishing her the very best.” A look toward the orchestra, another gesture.
“A tune not on the dance sheet,” Gillie whispered. “This one is for you, Fancy.”
The gentle strains of the violin lilting through the parlor were soon joined by flutes, lutes, the pianoforte, and a host of other instruments creating a lush version of “The Fairy Wedding Waltz.”
As one the crowd scattered to the edges of the chalk line that designated the area marked for dancing. The duke led his duchess into its center, took her in his arms, and swept her over the polished parquet. After they circled once, Mick escorted Fancy onto the floor.
